I always ask way too many questions. Funny, I hardly ever receive answers. Or, in other words, I don’t get satisfying answers. My request is always for more clarification. Perhaps it’s the professor in me. Clarify, elaborate, explain. I don’t want to make assumptions, and I am afraid that my assumptions are mostly inaccurate. I have learned that bravery is to ask for clarification. I draw in my breath, draw my sword, and ask you for more.
To want more is to be greedy, in a sense. It is hard to satisfy my hunger for you. I have survived on crumbs for too long. If I can preserve you, freeze you, keep you safe away from the inevitable pains of life, would that make me possessive? Obsessive, irrational? It is one thing for me to be in pain, but to watch you hurting is a horrible place to be. I stand helpless, watching you, unable to change events, to change the outcome, and to shelter you from the storm. I still think I have access to the skies, and that all it takes is a fight. I still have a fight in me. To fight for a better world for us, a safer life for you, one that doesn’t continue to separate us. Have I finally gone mad? I was a thief, your thief, you said. To steal your heart, to steal a part of your soul, that makes me a soul thief. I doubt that you know how many times you have asked me, silently, to steal your entire soul.